4. Ranger

[ 4 ]

RANGER

Eight seconds.

It meant something. Whether it was how long I’d been asleep, or the time it took after waking up in the bunkhouse for me to be fucking annoyed, I couldn’t tell.

But still.

Eight seconds. A lot could happen in a shorter blink of an eye, and in the time it took for me to contemplate that, I’d been accosted.

By children.

For fuck’s sake.

I shut my eyes, hoping they’d go away.

Without setting an actual foot in the bunkhouse, Ivy Greene poked me with a stick. “My dad said we could wake you up for dinner, so you have to wake up now.”

Her dad. Had to be Folk. No way Decoy would let such an outrage occur. “Tell your dad he’s a⁠—”

“Uh-uh.” From the doorway, Liliana Romano-Carter wagged a finger at me. “Don’t swear.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “I’m allowed to swear. I’m not responsible for you.”

I sat up, taking stock of my surroundings, including the gremlin spy brigade. The bunkhouse was familiar to me—I’d slept here more times than I could remember—but it had been a while and some shit had changed around the compound. Murals painted on every wall. Plants everywhere. More families milling around than there’d ever been.

What hadn’t changed was these kids were still annoying as fuck. Relentless, as if Rubi was their dad.

Ivy poked me again. “Are you awake?”

I relieved her of the stick and dropped it on the floor. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re about to smoke a cigarette and that’s really bad for you, Uncle Ranger.”

Uncle Ranger.Absolutely not. I was no one’s uncle anything, apart from maybe Rocco’s boys, but I hadn’t seen them in so long they’d probably forgotten all about me.

My tobacco was on the floor by the stick. I reached for it.

Ivy stuck her tongue out and ran away.

Liliana lingered. “Your friend slept in that bed.”

I rolled a smoke with one hand, rubbing my eyes with the other. “Locke?”

“No, the one with the helicopter.”

She disappeared without giving me a name, leaving a shiver behind her, and I’d forgotten that about Mateo’s kid. If she hadn’t been his absolute spit, I’d have thought she was Saint’s.

This fucking place.

I mauled my eyes harder, wishing I had a hangover. At least that shit made sense. I tried not to think about why I’d passed out on this bunk when the one I usually kipped in was on the other side of the room.

This was Locke’s bunk . . . at least, it had been before my bro had scored himself two hot lovers for company, and I was as happy for him as I was desperate for a fucking smoke.

I didn’t like smoking in bed unless I had company, and I was most definitely alone. I rolled to my feet and drifted to the doorway, lighting my rollie as I went, emerging into the yard as the sun began to dim. Damn, had I slept all day?

“There he is. Sleeping beauty.” Rubi popped up in front of me. “Heard you’d rolled in. Everything okay?”

Rubi was a hugger.

I didn’t mind. I embraced him back, letting him squeeze the breath from my lungs. “Can’t complain.”

“Then you’d never speak, you fucking whingebag.”

He’d called me worse over the years, when we’d been on opposite sides of a brawl. When I’d been on the wrong side, cementing my boots to the ground in the futile hope that my mere presence would stop the worst people on earth killing one of the best. Locke. I hadn’t seen him yet, but I loved that big fucker.

Rubi let me go. “Dinner’s up. You coming?”

“What is it?”

“Pie. Got a freezer full of them.”

“What kind of pie?”

“Chicken. Mushroom. Ham. Leeks—what’s that face for? Fucking salad-dodger.”

I wedged my smoke between my lips. “You didn’t say anything about salad.”

“It’s an umbrella term, you fussy fuck. You want leftover pizza instead?”

Like a hole in the head, but I wasn’t about to tell Rubi I’d gone off it since I’d woken up next to a cold pepperoni with a Russian gangster’s lips imprinted on my neck.

On my fucking soul.

You think I am gopnik?

“Nah. I’ll get some nuggets later.”

“Nuggets?” Rubi’s eyes widened as if I’d told him I was gonna double drop booms on the school run. “Mother of Dragons, there’s no helping you.”

He stropped off, genuinely offended. I watched him go, smoking up a storm to vanquish the ache in my chest, but being back here, even though I’d never been here with Vik, made pushing him out of my mind so much harder.

I need a fucking drink.

And lucky for me, it was beer o’clock somewhere.

I finished my smoke and went back for my boots, scooping up Ivy’s poking stick so I didn’t trip over it later.

Then I stomped to the bar, ignoring every twat along the way. There was still enough anti-Crow sentiment kicking around that I didn’t have many friends, unless I counted the gremlins tracking my every move.

Ivy had her eye on the stick.

I threw it on the roof. She produced another from behind her back and raced across the yard, skidding to a stop in front of me.

“It’s dinner time. You’re not allowed beer first.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone.”

“And where is everyone, eh? Why are you talking to me?”

Ivy poked me with the new stick and charged away again, linking up with Liliana. I scoped the yard for Folk, knowing he wouldn’t be far away, but he remained elusive and I got bored looking.

I shoved the bar door open, subjecting myself to an instant blast of shite metal music and a waft of stale beer. Though, I couldn’t deny the place was a hell of a lot cleaner than the MCs I’d been haunting the past few months.

The music could still die in a fire. I moved away from it, to the quieter side of the bar where a prospect was changing the beer mats and some old timer snored like he was playing a kazoo up his own arse.

Hate this place.

Cos Vik wasn’t here.

The prospect recognised me and cracked a bottle from the fridge, adding a Jägerbomb on the side. Like the lad knew he didn’t want to spend the next few hours with me if I didn’t get some caffeine in my belly.

And he wasn’t wrong. I knocked back the Red Bull-laced shot and swigged my beer, already itching for another smoke. But that meant walking the death-metal gauntlet again and I wasn’t in the fucking mood.

My beer ran dry. I signalled for another and dug cash from my back pocket.

The prospect waved it away. “You’re an officer.”

“Am I fuck.” I slapped the money on the bar. Free drinks meant work, and I wasn’t here for that either. “Keep them coming.”

The prospect looked unsure, but I had a stink eye mean enough that he did what he was told. Unless he really did think I had a seat at the table, an idea that could do one. With the Crows, being on the council had meant an obligation to be a Grade A cunt. For the Kings, it seemed to mean a man was destined to almost die on a monthly basis, and honestly, fuck that. I wasn’t one of those hippies that loved life, but I wasn’t done with it yet either.

Cos you can’t die without seeing him again.

Dear Brain,

Shut the fuck up.

No one ever listened to me. Not even myself. I drank enough to gain the edge. Got hungry and ate three bags of Monster Munch.

I was polishing off the last bag when Decoy ducked behind the bar. I pointed an unlit rollie at him. “Your kid poked me with a stick.”

He winced. “Sorry. Rubi probably told her to.”

“Sounds about right.”

Decoy slid another bottle across the bar. “How are you doing? We’ve missed you.”

“Really?” Five bottles and three Jägerbombs deep, my scepticism was harder to contain. “I don’t bring shit to your life, bro.”

Decoy’s steady gaze didn’t waver. “I used to think that about myself.”

“What changed?”

“Folk.”

“Not my type.”

Unoffended, Decoy grinned. “Regardless, it’s good to see you.”

He left it at that and got busy serving the crowd as the bar filled up with after work drinkers. Brothers, members, hang-arounds. I knew most of the faces, liked about three of them. And even then, I didn’t care enough to communicate more than a vague up-nod.

Regretted that. Being around people kept my mind busy, and I’d learned the hard way what happened these days when my subconscious was left to its own devices, vacillating between picturing Viktor half naked on his living room floor, and half dead on the muddy ground. It was a shade less fucking hideous than imagining him dead for real, but the difference was minimal, and my mood tanked. Some arsehole put the football on. My dad’s team was playing and the beer in my belly turned to acid.

I turned away from it, gripping a beer bottle with an iron fist, but the stadium noise deafened me, the green of the pitch flashing in my peripheral.

Fucking hate football.

Lies. I didn’t. I hated how it made me feel. The grief, the anger, the fear, and it sucked arse to be scared of something that had already happened. To be afraid of a festering wound that was never going to heal.

Decoy reached over the bar. “All right, mate?”

I evaded and walked out, cold air hitting me. A drizzle of rain. Acrid smoke in my lungs. None of it cured the pain, but away from the blare of the TV, it hurt less, giving way to Viktor again.

Irritated, I copped a seat on the bar steps, nursing my smoke. A bunch of old guard had to weave around me, but I didn’t like them, so I didn’t move.

“Crow bitch,” one of them growled.

I grit my teeth. It wasn’t the words that bothered me. I’d heard them my whole adult life, and truly only blamed myself for picking the wrong club to ride with.

You didn’t pick them. Rocco did.

Facts. But I wasn’t about to blame my dead friend for the arseholes still baring their teeth at me. Or the visceral reaction their aggression stoked in my bunched muscles. Suddenly, I was seven years old again and bracing for a vicious backhand, crying for someone I’d never see again, and wasn’t that a fucking treat?

The fossilised wankers got bored staring me down and stomped through the bar doors. It left me alone with a bitter pit in my stomach, but Finch blew up my phone before I could dwell on it too much.

Finch:Stop being grumpy

Ranger:who said i’m grumpy?

Finch:I have my sources

Ranger:are ur sources 3 foot tall and armed with sticks?

Finch:Maybe. But they’ve never let me down

Ranger:till now. i’m not grumpy

Finch:Are you okay, though? I didn’t get to ask you properly the other day

Ranger:babe, i’m fine

Finch:Don’t babe me. I’m not enamoured with you enough to fall for the deflection

Ranger:still love me though eh?

Finch:Always

That got me. Cos I loved her too, and maybe if we’d been different people, fate would’ve done something about that. But there wasn’t a romantic bone in Finch’s smoking hot body, and in any case, I couldn’t think of a single reality where I was good enough to lick her boots. That she’d let me fuck her brains out for a little while way back when still felt fucking surreal.

Ranger: luv u too

Finch tapped out of the conversation with an emoji. I scowled at my phone. I hadn’t seen her in a while, and I missed her something rotten, which only added to my stinking mood as my gaze swept the yard and landed on the little bastards who’d grassed me up.

Decoy and Mateo’s squidshits were hanging out by Liliana’s painting wall, no sticks in sight, but their presence still gave me pause. With Decoy behind the bar, I’d assumed Folk had taken Ivy home, meaning I was stuck here till he came back tomorrow now I was too buzzed to ride. What time did kids go to bed these days?

Didn’t know.

Didn’t care. I moved on, but not quick enough. Ivy noticed me, grabbed Liliana’s hand, and hurtled across the yard in my general direction.

The next six seconds were a blur as the bar door opened behind me and the same hulking idiot who’d called me a bitch stumbled down the steps into the path of the tiniest girl heading my way.

Ivy didn’t see him—she was moving too fast, too happy and free, but he saw her.

“Fucking kids. Place is a creche these days.”

Despite his growl, they were still on a collision course. His hand flew out, to strike her or push her away, she’d never fucking know.

Cos I floored the cunt first.